Betrayal: My 50th Fic!
by Sinical-Sarchasm
Summary: This is my FIFTIETH fic, so please please please read and REVIEW! *sobs as she take acceptance speech for making so many fics* Anyway...oh yeah, the summary: Even Harry isn't always perfect...


A.N.: Woohoo, my fiftieth fic!!!!!!! I've written 50 Harry Potter fics!!!!! Yay. Anyway...sort of odd, but what can I say? I'm odd too. ;-) 

Disclaimer: J.K. is the ruler of all. Without her I wouldn't have written 50 fics because Harry Potter wouldn't exist. I own the plot, but I would be immensely humbled if J.K. Rowling wanted to own it. ;-) 

***

"You're winning," he gasped. "You're winning. 

Voldemort smiled eerily, eyes glowing as though they were embers in a tumultuous fire. He had a thin, cruel smile that spread across his face making Harry shiver. "I am," he said, satisfaction in his voice. "And what is poor little Harry Potter going to do about it now?" 

"Damn it!" he swore. 

Voldemort's face contorted even further. "Is that all you can say? Damn it? Not any words to all human kind, not courageous sayings, just a curse?" 

"Someone help me!" But they all sat dormant, unable, unwilling to even attempt. The three who would have helped: Dumbledore, Ron, and Hermione. The three who had just been slain: Dumbledore, Ron, and Hermione. The rest could not, would not. 

"No help anymore," Voldemort sneered, "and since you broke your own wand, not even that tawdry phoenix will do anything. The great Harry Potter's downfall, no? His death?" 

"I may die," Harry said, courage evident, "But I will die fighting you!" 

"Certainly if you die now, it will be fighting me. It will also be loosing to me." 

"So be it then," Harry half-wondered what he was saying. Speaking a death wish upon himself? Half of him couldn't understand, the other half thought that he was noble. "I will die loosing to you, perhaps, but in a courageous fight." What's happening here? I'm about to die! How can I be about to die? 

Voldemort read his expression. He wanted to be courageous but couldn't bear the thought of dying. He was good at telling these things. It was a strength he prided himself on. "Harry Potter. Harry Potter, let us think of the options here. Since you are obviously too stupid to understand them yourself, I will lay them out for you. You have exactly two: one is to fight me and die, in which case everyone you like will be sad, I will have won, and you will be dead. The other is to simply surrender and join me, in which case everyone you like will be sad, I will have won, and you will be alive. Only one tiny difference, eh?" 

"I don't want you to --" his voice was cut short as another voice from a different corner of his mind cut in. "I don't want me to die! Oh damnit, I don't!" 

Voldemort smiled. Exactly as planned. It had worked on Peter, it had worked on Fred Weasley; why shouldn't it work on Harry Potter as well?" 

"See, you don't have to," Voldemort continued in a cold, cruel voice. He loved situations such as these, in which he was in complete control over everything -- others, himself, the situation. "It is a small price, joining me, for such a great reward, no? And, just between you and me, not only will you live longer, you can live forever. I have a Stone as well." He smiled cruelly. It was all a lie, of course, but how was Harry to know? He need never find out until he is too deep into the mess to change it all. 

"But..but I'm defying my side!" Harry struggled. Nearly his whole told him, "Just join him! Life is precious! Either way he'll win, either way people will be sad, why don't I just join him anyway?" But there was still that little piece of idealism. 

Voldemort crushed it. "Look at the people, frozen. They know I'll win too. They don't give a damn about you anyway. So why don't you join me? Why don't you?" 

Harry stared at the cold, cruel man, heart thumping. A voice told him it was stupid, wrong, but nonetheless he said it, "All right. I join you." 

"Good," Voldemort's lips twisted into his characteristic cold, cruel smile of triumph. 

Harry's voice was the only thing that cried out as the Dark Mark was branded onto him, for his conscience and his soul had been sold. Sold for his own life.


End file.
